


Underneath Your Skin

by stilesinwonderland (itsabravenewworld)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fights, Funny, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabravenewworld/pseuds/stilesinwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So there are such things as vampires now?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath Your Skin

“So there are such things as vampires now?” Stiles asks incredulously, leaning on both hands over a town map. Derek looks over his shoulder, and Scott stands to the side, studies the map and draws the occasional path between consecutive murders and kidnaps, all in the past two months.

It had begun with a bloody corpse found on the railroad tracks. Well, not really a corpse but more of a bloody pulp crammed into a flimsy, soaking wet box. The man’s head was found nearby, dangling by the short strands of hair in a doorway, displaying the exposed neck, and the two telltale marks from a vampire bite. The police summed it up as a psychotic Twilight fanatic, but months later after Stiles manages to sneak into the police records and look at evidence for nights on end, they can safely determine what exactly is killing innocent people.

“I guess,” Derek says after a few seconds, and rubs a hand along Stiles’s lower back before moving to the other side of the table. “My mother used to talk about them, but she said they were all gone from California years ago. I don’t know why they would return now of all times.”

“Some of them were obviously pretty hungry,” Scott says with a grimace.

“That doesn’t explain the kidnappings,” Stiles says. “They’re all children. He couldn’t be planning on doing anything to them unless.” He freezes. “Unless they’re--”

“Planning on growing their clan,” Derek finishes solemnly, shakes his head. He blows out a frustrated breath, and in the process looks decades younger, unsure.

"Shit."

"No, but that has to mean some of them are alive," Stiles insists. The deaths are all clustered to a couple-mile radius, so he circles around the coordinate dots with a red marker.

"And we can't let them keep killing citizens," Derek says with an air of finality. He points to a red dot running through an abandoned trail near the middle of Stiles’s circle. “This is where we’ll start. It’ll be dangerous; werewolves can’t trace the smell of vampires because they’re not living anymore.” Stiles nods, looks through the assortment of weapons made for vampire ass-kicking that Derek has laid out, pulls a bottle of holy water and pockets it in his hoodie.

“Before you tell me that I’m staying behind, I’m saying no.” Derek looks at him with both eyebrows high on his forehead, like he really hadn’t been considering it, but now he is, so Stiles raises a hand, points a finger right on Derek’s firm chest, final. “I’m going.”

-

  


It doesn’t take too long for the stakeout to go sour (which should be expected from a group of teenage werewolves, a human, and one Alpha that’s just reached the older side of young-adult); Stiles trails too far behind the pack to be seen because he doesn’t have super speed like the rest of them, and his lungs are trying to catch up for a second. He doesn’t realize they’re all out of sight until he can’t hear Derek grumbling at the rest of them to split up and search, and Boyd was the last one he’d seen, but even he’s gone now. “Real nice,” Stiles grumbles, pulls his jeans up so it’s easier to walk, and adjusts his heavy, navy hoodie.

Twigs snap to his side, and he expects Derek to come marching through the brush and tug him farther along, but instead approaches who he assumes is the vampire, by his unnatural paleness save for two dark circles around his eyes. The hungry look in his eyes makes Stiles shiver.

“You must be part of the Hale pack,” the man trills, and Stiles is shocked and a little disappointed at the lack of a British or other foreign accent in his voice. He has a definite Southern tone to his voice, like he’s grown up on a ranch. Stiles notes that the man looks like Brad Pitt from “Interview With a Vampire,” but much more realistic, which is probably because he’s actually dead.

“And who are you?” Stiles asks him. “You look a little sick, by the way.”

Brad Pitt look-alike studies him. “My name is Charlie. I am, just a little sick."

"Go ahead and give your little bad-guy monologue, then," Stiles waves his hand, because Derek's perched in the trees behind him, crouched down low, ready to pounce. He pushes a palm out, tells him without speaking to lay low because with whatever information the vampire will give him, they might be able to use to find the missing kids.

Charlie must not think anything of his spasm, because he doesn't turn to check behind him. "I probably won't be giving any sympathy though, considering there are four bodies in the morgue and five unconfirmed ones missing." He fixes Derek with a glare over Charlie's shoulder because he's wolfed out now despite Stiles's warning and his heavy breaths could alert the vampire of his presence. Vampires apparently have no better hearing than the average human, but he's staring at Stiles's jugular which alerts him to his otherworldliness.

So Stiles does what he thinks is best at the time, and runs. "Derek, no!" He orders because he doesn't want to be followed yet, halts when Charlie appears in front of him with a blur. "Don't worry son," he says, nails stroking along Stiles's neck, which he shudders away from.

"It's Stiles, don't call me kid." He lifts his nose.

"Stiles," Charlie repeats over and over like he's trying it out on his tongue, swishing it around until it sounds right. Each time he says it, the dread weighing Stiles’s stomach down sinks deeper. "I would kill you now, Stiles, but I've had quite the supper tonight. I thought I'd play with my food a bit, explain why I'm the wronged party here."

"That's a horrible habit, playing with your food," Stiles comments without thinking, and wonders why his reflex is always to encourage creatures to eat him quicker. "It does keep you thin though," Stiles tries.

All Charlie does is hum. "That it does."

Stiles can't thank the heavens enough that it's so easy to convince villains to go on tangents before trying to kill him, just like in the movies.

"So Stiles, I really feel like I must explain myself," Charlie says, as if reading his mind, but indulging him anyways. Charlie's fingernails are a fleshy, blood-mixed red and taper into points. He curls his fingers in and out in a crushing motion. "You see, long ago I had a beautiful family, little daughters and cousins, brothers, uncles. We lived in peace in Beacon Hills for hundreds of years, before civilization even formed here. How would you feel if one day without warning in this place that is your home, they were slowly massacred in front of you, because of what you were?"

Stiles's stomach sinks, and he scowls. "You know what happened to the Hales."

"To Derek's family? Oh yes, it was most unfortunate to hear," he says, looking so disinterested that Stiles wants to strangle him just to see if he'll bruise.

"So then you know that the survivors, Derek and Laura, they never had to kill innocent people to get revenge for why they had been wronged." Stiles sidesteps to gain distance between them.

"I seem to remember there being a Peter in the Hale family--"

"Not the point," Stiles stares him down until he concedes with a chuckle, though his red eyes show no humour in them.

"But what you do not know, little Stiles, is that the Hales are the ones who have done this to me," he says, eyebrows slanted and his pupils turning to slits. He morphs to look snakelike, and Stiles's breath hitches. "Talia Hale, her and the rest of them, made an ‘executive order,” he sounds as if he’s expelling poison from his body when he spits the phrase out, “that all of us were to be executed. _Executed.”_

“Call me crazy,” Stiles suggests, “but isn’t it weird to try and prove that you’re not a crazy killer by, I don’t know, _killing people?_ Peaceful protests don’t involve leaving chopped-off heads around, so you know, _”_ he trails off.

Charlie’s nails dig into the tree next to him; the smile he lets out is just as sharp as his nails are and it glows in the night light. “There’s where your intuitiveness fails you, Stiles. I am not trying to gain recompense, or sympathy for what we’ve done, what our kind _is_. I am in search of revenge, after all.”

“On the Hales?”

“On the Hales,” he repeats, mocking.

Stiles frowns. “Then why are you throwing a pity party to me right now, and not just killing me?”

“It’s easy, if you think it over,” Charlie smiles, sickeningly, and even his bright glistening teeth are stained red.

So Stiles does think. It’s too easy to just kill them all; Derek’s already lost his family, proving he can handle a loss like that again, though it may almost kill him. And Charlie seems to know Stiles is of some importance to Derek, because otherwise he wouldn’t have cornered him, instead he would have killed him.

But someone alone and threatened by a pack like Derek’s, with two emissaries like Deaton and his sister--

He inhales sharply, petrified in his spot. Because if Stiles is useful to the pack for information and somehow Charlie’s gotten hold of that fact, Stiles would be the perfect asset. As a vampire. That also explains the disappearance, not deaths, of so many children. He was creating a new clan, and quick. “I’m uh--” he chokes out. Somehow, he’d been less scared of dying than he is of being turned, turned dead and bloodthirsty. It also repulses him out, thinking of drinking blood for eternity. “I’m going to have to deny that uh-- that request there pal, but thank you for the offer.”

Charlie shakes his head. “I’m afraid it wasn’t a request, Stiles.”

Stiles shudders when Charlie is again too close for comfort, and he has no clue how he can advance that quickly on him, stumbles back. “Still denying that, nope. Consent is _not_ approved.” Stiles seems to catch the feeling that Charlie doesn’t necessarily care about his consent, and when an ice-cold grip envelops his arm, he panics with the holy water bottle in his palm. He flips the lid open, tosses his hand to the side, bathing Charlie’s arm in it. It hisses against the skin, painful enough to cause Charlie to release him with a howl.

Stiles wastes no time, dashes through the trees back towards the clearing they’d just exited, back towards where Derek was no doubt waiting anxiously. He misjudges the distance between his shoulder and a tree as he runs, and clips it with a grunt of pain. He pulls his hoodie back up when it falls down and his loss of momentum causes another tree to advance too quickly for him to react.

The tree scratches his palm, and when he tries and fails to stop himself from crashing into the tree, it smashes his nose in. He takes his hand away and registers blood flowing even as he sprints. There's a sickening crunching of the tree he'd hit, and when he chances a look back, Charlie is perched like a cat on top of the trunk, inspecting it with a couple of deep sniffs. He knows that now, the vampire has his scent, and he screams through the blood spurting out of his nose, making a sick popping noise.

Derek hefts him up by his waist, roars in warning at the man with his nose guiding him to Stiles. Stiles doesn't know what else to do so he gives the man the finger, and his stomach drops against the force of gravity when the man grins at him from where he's halted. Stiles lurches in his hold when he resumes his canter away, and pales when he sees Charlie advancing, just under the speed that Derek is sprinting. “Go, go!”

“I’m going!” Derek snaps, dashes around a tree, just managing to lose the vampire behind them when he kicks it into double gear, leaving the forest way behind them.

-

So thankfully his nose isn't broken, and the blood stops flowing after ten minutes of Derek angrily swiping at his face and holding the bridge of his nose for him, and he's going to have to scrub his kitchen floor so hard to get all of that out. Scott still hasn’t called him back, and he checks his phone every few minutes

"I am not a child, Derek," Stiles tells him, tries to swat his hand away to no avail when Derek growls in his face. Stiles thinks he smells nice, so he lets him stay close.

He fists a hand in Derek's shirt. "Am I too gross to kiss now?" He puckers his lips, surprised when Derek, even with a disgusted face, complies and gently kisses him, stroking blood flakes from his skin. "Gross, I was kidding. At least wait until we get the blood off."

Derek growls playfully at him, holding him close by the sides of his face, and Stiles is about to remind him of the inconvenience of the time when Scott bursts into the room, lugging something that Stiles can't see in a blanket, Isaac following close behind with Erica and Boyd in tow.

The line of his tattoo is disrupted by a jagged gash that has yet to heal and Stiles shouts in shock at the sight of bite marks in his neck, pasty white against his tanned skin. Stiles wonders how on earth he managed to rip his shorts on one leg so it's up to his crotch, when the lump under his arm starts flailing.

"What the hell happened," Scott asks, dropping it and pulls the blanket until it reveals a pair of green eyes, a short, petite nose, and thin strands of blonde hair. The girl flinches at his question, bursts into tears.

Isaac is at her side in a second, and Stiles isn’t shocked to see that she’s not scared of him when he leans close. Isaac seems to have gotten the least amount of damage in the fight, there is some blood sticking to his curls from a most likely healed wound. Erica looks worse for wear, and her hair looks like chunks of it are torn out of her skull in places. Boyd’s arm is setting back in place from a break along his elbow, and his face is scrunched up in pain. None have any bite marks that Stiles can see, though, which is a positive.

Isaac rubs the corner of the fabric over the little girl’s eyes to dry the tears on her face, mutters “It’s okay, hey, you’re fine. Don’t cry.”

“Christ, Scott, are you okay? You got bit!” Stiles says when his friend sways on his feet. Stiles frantically grabs Scott’s arm, helps his stay standing. “That won’t turn him into a vampire or kill him, will it?”

Derek shakes his head, shadows crossing over his face. “He’ll get sick for a little bit from it, though. And the scars won’t fade for a few weeks at the most.”

As if being affected by Derek’s words, Scott burps loudly.

"So uh," Stiles says, "I have some questions." Derek swings his leg back over the chair he'd been straddling, passes over the bloody tissue back to Stiles. Stiles can't help but pay attention to the curve of his lower back and the back of his arms, following the lines until they meet pushed-up black sleeves, when he stands. “One, is you-know-who gone?” Scott shakes his head. “Are there any other survivors?”

Scott looks like he’s kicking himself when he says, “We didn’t get there fast enough. He used the rest of them to feed.”

“So he’s much stronger now,” Stiles assumes. With trembling hands, he lifts himself up, wipes away more crusted blood. He fixes his attention on the girl sobbing on his couch.

“This is Kia. Kia, this is Stiles,” Scott says. Stiles waves at her with a tiny smile. She doesn’t return it, just stares at him. “Stiles is my best buddy, he’ll make sure you’re going to be okay.”

“What happened to his face?” Kia mumbles over the blanket, and of course Scott and Isaac have already gotten her to talk, that kind of thing is easy for them.

“I fought a tree just running around. It won.” Kia at least laughs at that, uncurling slightly from her fetal position. She actually looks less small now that she isn’t hugging her knees to her chest. It makes him sick to think of the damage Charlie had planned for her, and soon for him too. Kia doesn’t even have any direct family left because Charlie had made a snack of them, so when this is all blown over, she won’t have anyone to go home to.

Stiles pulls Derek aside when Kia is being interrogated by Scott. “We need to make sure that Charlie hasn’t turned her yet,” Stiles whispers. “We need to take her to Deaton.” Kia is recalling her tale animatedly behind them, arms splayed out and scared tears in her eyes, and Derek looks to him, nods.

-

On the drive to Deaton’s, Charlie throws a deer at Stiles’s Jeep, nearly throwing them off of the road. Stiles screams, and Kia is shrieking in the back seat with Scott; he would laugh at the fact that their screams are the same frequency if he wasn’t trying not to die. He spins the wheel, attempting to gain control  of the vehicle and halts in the middle of the road, Derek acting as an extra seat belt holding him back with a strong bicep from crushing his skull against the steering wheel.

“Was that a freaking deer?” Stiles prides himself in managing not to swear in front of Kia, even while feeling a panic attack on the rise.

They all unbuckle and step out of the vehicle, Derek inspecting the deer and Scott doing a perimeter check. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd have already arrived, having halted behind them and they’re all waiting for Derek’s orders. “It looks like we’re being called out,” Derek says. “Let’s answer it.” This is met with all growls. Stiles gives a feeble one of his own.

Derek notices, and looks him over. He’s giving him that look that means he’s debating locking him up to protect him. Stiles shakes his head. “You guys need to split up, and look for a trail. I can drive with one of you and look for him; let me do something, Derek.”

“I don’t--” Derek starts. “No,” he shakes his head with finality.

“Why not?” Stiles raises his chin defiantly. “We need all of the people we can get on this, right? And Charlie can find _me_ by scent; it’s my blood from the tree. I hate being bait, but I think we need to do it this time.”

Derek doesn't look like he's about to budge either; the way his eyebrows are fixed, tight on his forehead, tells Stiles as much. "We aren't going to do that, Stiles. You're going to stay here, watch Kia,or bring her to the station." And the way he seems to think he can shut Stiles down that way without any explanation, well, that sends a tingle of budding fury in the bottom of his spine, enough to make him straighten and level their heights, because he's still not as buff but he's not gangly and _pushable_ anymore.

"You're telling me what to do now, without hearing what I have to say?" Stiles _knows_ he's right, too, he's gathered enough evidence to know that the Charlie’s would be able to find him and only him by scent. His blood was on the tree, so Charlie would track _him_ , not anyone else.

Derek seems to be able to tell that he's stepping on uneven ground with what he's said but doesn't want to budge in front of the pack by the way his eyes flicker to Scott's trembling form, and Erica with her hand pressed to her healing arm to stop the blood quicker.

"She needs someone here," Derek says, calmer and less demanding than before, but it does a lot to alleviate Stiles's anger. His face speaks volumes about what he's thinking for just that second, that she needs Stiles there as much as Derek does, needs him to be safe. And though Stiles hates being treated with kid gloves--has ever since he's become responsible after his mom is dead--he knows that Derek isn't really dismissing him, that the job given is still important.

Stiles takes a look at Kia's trembling form wrapped in the dark blanket and green, then back at Derek's sincere but guarded hazel eyes, incredibly close to him.

It makes Stiles deflate. "Please don't get killed." Derek's heart is beating heavily against his palm, and this close, Stiles is so near his dark stubble that he runs fingers over Derek's chin. It scratches at his hypersensitive skin, and Stiles presses harder in, pulls by the hip and tilts his head to kiss him.

Derek leans his forehead against Stiles, and moves so quickly that the next press in lands on his cheek and the next on his nose. "I won't," he promises solemnly.

Boyd is complaining about them being a pain in his leg, or maybe his ass, but Stiles isn't listening, because Derek is pulling away, straightening himself up. "Boyd? Shut up," Stiles snaps, reaching for Derek's arm to try and hinder him from leaving.

Regretfully, Derek backs up further, and they all fade dramatically into the back of the woods past the trees, fur spouting from their sideburns.

Stiles huffs, sits on the bumper of the Jeep alongside Kia. He smiles in what he hopes is a comforting way, and the little girl raises her eyebrow, in too skeptical of a way for a ten year old girl. The woods are too quiet for Stiles to distract himself with wilderness noises, and with a jolt of sudden fear, he comes to the realization that he has nothing to protect himself, or Kia with, even against some of the woodland creatures.

Looking off horrified into the darkness lasts approximately ten seconds before he claps his hands together, steps onto the ground again and carries Kia to the front of the car. He drops her off at Deaton with hurried promises to come back real soon and get her back. From the back room, he takes a pair of Link-style boots and stuffs a blade into there, and he ignores the man's shouts following him as he rushes out of the door, into the too-silent night.

-

"Derek!" Stiles calls, hopes he sounds as fearful as he intends. His hands shake when he cups them to shout, louder and intently more frantic. The entrance to the woods is far, far behind him and he can't see past his shoes anymore, just what sight the moonlight provides. "Derek, where are you?"

"He's not here, love." Stiles jumps, and that shouldn't have surprised him, because this was all his plan. He straightens up, knows he can't afford to mess this up, because he'll be ground beef otherwise. His right hand twitches down towards his boots.

"Charlie," Stiles says, looks into bright, surreal red eyes that are staring him down. He feels compelled to move forward, an insistent tugging down in his abdomen, calling him. He pushes at the force, holding it back. The gasp he lets out is so perfectly frightened sounding that Stiles thinks he deserves an award for it, for all of this.

He hopes Derek will thank him later.

Stiles doesn't notice Charlie is advancing until he's close enough to grab, too close to make a quick getaway. Even the golden locks of hair hanging from his eyes are stuck together, glowing and all of him looks unbelievably _dead_ from this close.Stiles feels more scared and unsure if his plan than before, but that's usually what happens to the hero before he epically wins the fight, which gives him a surge of courage. "How did you find me?"

Charlie's spindly fingers caress his own face. They reach out next to touch Stiles, and he barely avoids the contact, eyes wide. Charlie grins like he's won their little battle, and Stiles prays that it's not true. He won't admit that Derek could have been right and he should have stayed behind; he'll take that to his death though, which he hopes is sixty years into the future, and not in the middle of the woods with a centuries-old vampire when he's only eighteen. "I could find you anywhere, Stiles."

"Isn't that flattering," Stiles smiles, tries to swallow back the bile coming up.

"I could find you even when you're dead," Charlie says again, fangs elongating out past his purple-tinted lips. He's repeatedly licking them over and over again, without getting them moist, and Stiles shivers. The tug is back, much stronger than before.

"You flatter me, really." He sideswipes, past a tree. He peeks out past the trunk, cowering slightly. "Wait, are you telling me I stink?"

"In the best way," Charlie answers, grins like it should be taken as the greatest compliment he's gotten in his short life.  

Stiles jumps from his grip once more, and the hiss Charlie lets out tells Stiles that he's close to pouncing to get what he wants. "I don't know, it doesn't sound like it's a positive thing. Let me be honest with you, man, I don’t think you’d be able to handle me for an eternity.” Charlie raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, I’m really obnoxious when I eat and you’ll most likely ditch me on the side of the road after a few days.”

“I never really got how blood was appealing ever anyways. I eat my steak well-well-done, I mean I'm surprised I even have blood left, really." Charlie doesn't look impressed at his joke. "You look a frightful shade of hungry," he notes, swallows and looks towards the trees. Someone lets out a howl, then another closer behind.

"I am," Charlie hisses again, tongue darting out. He's heard the noise too, and now looks more rushed than before. Stiles cringes.

"Let me be honest, I ate _tons_ of garlic this morning with my pasta. Even if that legend isn't true," Stiles frantically adds when Charlie rolls his eyes. There must be no difference in charm between three centuries, Stiles figures. "There's still enough here to severely disgust you," he adds, taps the veins in his arms, unnecessarily drawing attention to it.

When Charlie is distracted and stares at the bluish veins with hunger, Stiles bends and sticks his hand in his boot, rolls on his back and onto one foot, yielding the medium-sized dagger, part of the blade digging into his palm. He doesn't have time to admire his own skills before there's a quick blur of movement and Charlie has him pinned to the ground in the next second. Stiles can feel his arms smashed into the dirt and gravel, and his legs pinned underneath him by cold, strong legs.

Charlie sniffs. "Silver," he sneers, and Stiles chokes because his breath smells _worse_ than death. It smells of blood and dead animals and garbage and Stiles wants to gag. "You thought you could kill me with that?" He laughs, and Stiles kicks him in the abdomen. Charlie's thin fingers are enclosing his throat; they press him down until he's lightheaded (and not in the good way, like when Derek does it, and he's working fingers in and out).

He chokes out, "Derek," in a last feeble attempt against the palm taking his breath away.

"He's not coming for you, Stiles." The hand does loosen though, just the tiny amount for Stiles's blood to flood back into his head, which is both what Charlie needs and exactly what Stiles wants. "He's not coming for you, and you'll be mine until they decide to kill you, because you'll be changed by then. It'll be wonderful, watching the wolf, Hale, have to cut your head off. The Hales have not suffered enough for what Talia has done; this should suffice."

When he feels lips brushing the skin of his neck, freezing cold, Stiles squeezes his fingers into the hilt of the dagger and swings out to his left, to the outside of Charlie's neck; it makes a sickening sound as it squelches in through the flesh. Stiles feel like he may be having a heart attack when Charlie grins, despite having the knife all the way through his neck and sticking out of the other side.

"Cute," he clicks his tongue.

Stiles only barely manages to grab both side of the knife and push his head back, flesh sliced until it's almost all the way pulled through and about the slice through his spine when Charlie's fangs are a breath away from his jugular.

Charlie doesn't seem to register the hissing of his flesh until it creates a smell in the air mixed with the dried leaves and wilderness. He claws at Stiles's face and holds his head to the side in an attempt to get the bite in, but Stiles pulls at the knife, pushing it in and out.

Charlie howls, spits blood onto Stiles who splutters in disgust. "You," he gasps. "How..."

"Silver knife laced with a little something extra, like some holy water and magic," Stiles smiles, a little more than cruelly. In response, nails scratch at his face and into his neck, not deep enough to bleed, more to find purchase, but it still hurts, so he lets out a gasp.

Stiles watches as Charlie rolls off of him, convulsing on the ground before the fight is completely out of him and he's dead on the ground to his left. He feels like his breath has escaped him and his body isn't coming up with more quickly enough. The knife is in his grip; he'd been holding onto it so tight that it had pulled back out.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly. A thicket of pine trees to his right rustle violently before they're shoved to the side and someone barrels through and into the clearing. When he spots who it is, Stiles can't help himself, he waves from his space on the ground.

"Jesus, Stiles," Scott whines, and kicks Charlie aside to help Stiles sit up. The welts on his neck are starting to bruise already and Scott's face looks wrecked. "What happened, where's Kia? Are you okay? He didn't bite you, did he?" He yells the last part, right in Stiles's face, so Stiles pushes him back, because seriously. He needs the space to breathe.

"I'm fine, no harm. I will have bruises, and scratch marks, but what else is new," he winks, and Scott punches him in the arm. "I brought Kia to Deaton; she'll be safer than if I would have watched her. Where's De--"

" _Stiles_!"

Stiles winces. "Right."

Instead of pushing the tree aside like Scott had, Derek nearly tears it apart in his haste to get into the open space. He checks the area, catches sight of Charlie, dead on the ground, and sees Scott and Stiles practically huddled together, Stiles using him as a support beam. The condition of his face must be as bad as he's assumed because Derek looks a mixture of horrified and like he's about to finish Charlie’s job of killing him. "Hi dear," he waves the knife, and lowers it when he realizes it's there and Derek is watching it like it contains the plague.

"What did I--why--" Derek clenches his fist in front of him, because he can't seem to grasp the rest of his sentence. He looks lethal, and Stiles doesn't know whether to be scared or defensive, so he decides putting it off until later is the best option.

"Don’t, stop worrying. He came after me; he wanted to turn me, make me part of the clan, but I got him. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I figured I could handle it." Stiles tells him, and moves until Scott gets the hint and helps him up. Derek is staring at him, horrified. "We need to figure out what to do with Kia right now though,” Stiles tries bringing up the subject, giving Derek a _we’ll talk later_ look, “because she's fatherless, and is probably really scared right now."

Scott makes a sad noise, the compassionate bastard. Derek says, "She's human, so she can go into any system and live with a human family. She'll be okay."

He nods. Stiles feels Derek grab his bicep, tight. "You need to be taken home and rest."

Stiles meets his eye, and when he sees that there's no room for argument this time, he decides that he's too tired and he needs to pick his fight later. Right now, he wants to fall asleep with Derek rubbing his sure-to-bruise back soothingly, so he takes Derek's bicep, leans into his touch, tries to convey that with his eyes. Derek sees it, he can tell, but he still has that sour look on his face and he pointedly ignores Stiles’s stare.

Derek lets go and walks in front of him, motions for Stiles to follow. Stiles begins to, then looks at Scott over his shoulder, says, "Make sure everyone is fine. Bury him too," he gestures with his chin to dead-Charlie.

When Derek stops and side-eyes him without actually talking (because he’s apparently a child and delivering the silent treatment), he shrugs. "He was creepy as hell, but he deserves a funeral. I wouldn't really mind letting him rot out here, but people would get suspicious."

Scott nods, dashes through the trees in the opposite direction they're going, most likely to find Erica and Boyd.

The walk to the car is silent save for the snapping of twigs and the occasional car horn now that they're closer to the main road. Stiles yawns, rubs at his eyes.

"I could sleep for a week," Stiles tells him, and when Derek doesn't react with more than a grunt, Stiles's smile fades away. "Oh come on, aren't you happy for me? I got the bad guy! I totally kicked ass! _And_ I had a really cool ending line; I've always wanted to do that."

Derek still doesn't respond, so Stiles frowns, crosses his arms and opens his own door to the car. Derek at least has the manners to slam it shut for him, though. Stiles doesn't thank him for it either, because Derek's being an asshole and not talking to him; he hasn't even asked if he was okay, which kind of stings because Stiles is still shaking and feeling overall like shit.

He doesn't look back when the car stops in his driveway, and when Derek says his name, quiet, he pretends that he hasn't heard it. He locks the door when he gets in, checks to make sure his dad is asleep (he is, fast asleep while the tv plays recaps of the latest NASCAR race).

He takes a quick shower and gets dressed in old clothes, groans at how much he _hurts_ from being thrown around. Stiles knows that complaining about it will get him nothing but yelled at by Derek, and since a massage is probably out of the question, he takes two ibuprofen and downs two glasses of water.

The curtains flutter when his window is open, so when he walks in, he jumps back, expecting to see another vampire. Instead, Derek is frozen with his fingers stuck under the window like he had just been sneaking in. Stiles scowls; Derek has no right to look so angry at him still, like all he's been planning on doing is yelling at him.

"If you're going to be this way, you can get the hell away from my window because you're not coming in tonight," Stiles tells him through the little slit in the glass, then slams it shut, almost chopping Derek's fingers off in the process; Derek pulls them back, surprised.

He opens the window again, and Stiles moves to sit on the bed, runs a hand through his damp hair. The short sleeves of his shirt don't hide the scratch marks from the rocks on the ground on his pale skin, and some of the scratches _have_ started to bleed, because that's just his luck. His nose is still bruised too, so he’s sure he looks like he’s gotten quite a beaten.

Derek watches as he rubs along the painful marks, like he wants to help make them go away, but he's too busy being stubborn to do it. He steps fully into the room, feet landing with a dull thud. "Close the window," Stiles tells him with a shiver because he already has a fan running, that'll just give him a cold. Derek complies, sweeping the dust off of the sill with his long fingers.

"So you gonna yell at me or what?" Stiles asks when the tense silence has gone on for way too long. "Because you staring at me is counterproductive to anything."

“Deaton thinks he’s going to adopt Kia,” Derek says, an edge of something Stiles can’t identify in his voice, and that definitely isn’t what Stiles is expecting.

“Why?”

Derek shrugs. “She knows a lot about things, she listened to Charlie; the guy ranted like no one else. A kid like her needs to be watched, too. Maybe Deaton sees potential for her.” His clipped sentences are obviously purposely done, so Stiles narrows his eyes, rolls them.

His long fingers trace the seam of his jeans. “So we’re going to ignore the fact that I killed him? No ‘good job, Stiles, you saved a little girl’s life?’ No ‘good job Stiles, you avoided being turned into a vampire?’”

“No.”

“Glad that’s clear, then,” Stiles snaps.

"I can't-- we agreed that you would stay put," Derek says, an angry edge to his voice, like this is the only time someone has dared to disobey him, but Stiles always likes to think there’s a first time for everything, and he scowls, challenging.

"We didn't agree on _anything_ , Derek." Stiles tosses his hands down and twists his dark blue sheets between his hands, the veins the same blue color. "You told me what I was going to do, and assumed I would do it, like you _always do."_

"Because I know--"

"Know what?" Stiles asks, giving him the opportunity to shut up before he crosses a line. Derek's sharp jaw is working back and forth as he clenches it, but he remains silent. "You know what's best for me?"

"Yes!"

"Like what, leaving me alone in the woods with a little girl while Charlie could have very well have come and found us any second, with me unprotected?" Derek goes to speak, but Stiles puts a hand up to stop him, riled up now. "If he wanted to kill me and didn’t want to mess with your head so much, turn me into one of him so _you_ would kill me, he could have gotten me as soon as he wanted, because your idea left me out in the open. Because let me tell you, I wouldn't have been able to fight him for as long as I did without any help, Derek."

"You did, though," Derek tells him, and Stiles knows that he's officially won this fight, that Derek is acknowledging that he's right without actually saying it. Derek never really lets his emotions show on his face, though; to anyone else he would still seem colossally pissed with his mouth screwed downwards and his eyebrows set.

Stiles lets out a _ha_ of laughter, bitter.

"I'm still mad at you, though," and Derek crosses his arms, bulging arms catching Stiles's attention. He reaches over to the side of his bed where his cape hangs from the headboard and wraps it around Derek's neck, looping it until it's tied right and the fan is blowing the cape back and forth behind him.

"Well guess what: now you're _super_ mad," Stiles tells him, and it’s harder than he thinks to keep a straight face with Derek looking so affronted at him.

Derek huffs, and the tension bleeds out of his face at the joke. His shoulders shake with a sudden burst of laughter, and then the smile is gone, flitting into an expression of worry that must have just been taking second-spot after his stubborn fury. He smiles at the fact that only Derek could make that all happen in less than a second. Stiles can't help but look at him, with a cape around his neck he looks much more fond than pissed like usual. Stiles kind of wants to marry him.

When Derek shoulders stop shaking with his silent laughter, he tilts his head down to touch their heads together. His scratchy fingertips trace down the back of his neck, needling the pain out of his face and back, and he moans in relief. "Have I told you I love you for that-mmf" the last part is muffled by Derek's mouth against his, which is fine, totally fine.

He'll probably never get over the fact that when Derek kisses his neck, the stubble scratches his skin, leaving sharp pinpricks of feeling in its wake even for hours after, but he doesn't want to get over it as long as it keeps happening to have him feel it all of the time. He shivers, climb up onto Derek like a spider monkey, and melds them together with a leg wrapped around his waist to hold himself, and his tongue tracing the path that Derek's is making, following its path.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Derek breaths against him, rolls his hips down, and it heats Stiles up, pulls his skin tight. Derek's warm palm pulls him by the ass and he stands, tossing him onto the bed (he does this with only one hand and the fact that he has enough strength in his one hand to lift all of Stiles is such a turn on it makes him almost lose his mind).

He can't help hissing when the pain in his back is rekindled by both Derek releasing his superpower healing-hold and being thrown onto it, and Derek hesitates. "No, no, it's fine," Stiles groans when it seems like Derek is right about to scold him again, and feels along the frown lines in his scruff, trying to smooth them out. "But can we just," he grips Derek's thick black hair and tugs him down for a languid kiss, then turning until he's lying on his side, burying his face in the pillow because sexy-times can wait until morning but sleep is right now.

Derek follows when Stiles pulls at him gently until he is sharing his pillow, pulling the edge closer to his side. Without prompting, Derek's warm touch is already soothing and rubbing at the sore skin on his back. He sighs contentedly and burrows closer, turning so they're face-to-face, accepting the kiss Derek gives to him. Derek mutters "idiot," under his breath, and Stiles huffs a laugh, then flicks his cheek. They fall asleep, Derek's hand tracing a possessive hand up and down his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a picture I saw on tumblr that said "If your significant other is mad at you put a cape on them and say "now you're super mad!" If they laugh, marry them." And well, I couldn't really help myself, and 7,000 words shot out of my head. Title is loosely based off of the line from "The Devil Within" by Digital Daggers.  
> I hope you all like it, and come check me out on tumblr if you'd like! (obriensnipples)


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